Let Me Die
by Taboo Princess
Summary: Sylar struggles to keep a mentally unstable Mohinder alive. AU. Mylar.
1. Chapter 1

Mohinder was the vision of a fallen angel, splayed out on his apartment's floorboards. He clutched the knife that was protruding from his chest with a limp hand. Remnants of self inflicted wounds gracing his dark arms, illuminated in a ghostly pale pink where the tissue just refused to knit together again.

They were the result of too many nights crying himself to sleep, clawing at his own skin. He couldn't escape, though. He had learned through the seemingly endless years that however much you run, reality will always resurface and take away what matters most.

Unfortunately, Sylar was his reality check. Four years ago, in this very room, little Molly Walker was killed. That monster had broken into doctor's apartment and mercilessly stolen the girl's ability. He took great pleasure in making Mohinder watch his adoptive daughter's demise. From that time on, the insanity that overtook him was incredible.

The parasite stepped into the room where Mohinder rested, his life draining away. Sylar wouldn't have this. He dove onto the doctor's body and removed the knife, his eyes wide with fear. "Not again," He whispered, frantically wrapping bandages around the weakening man.

Sylar claimed to have reformed when he came to Mohinder two years ago. He said that he felt remorse for his actions, and begged for forgiveness. Though the man he knew as Doctor Suresh was gone. He was mad now, in every aspect of the word. He was dead-set on torturing himself in an effort to stop his pain, and at times he would project his anger onto anyone that got too close.

The ex-murderer knew that his efforts to keep Mohinder safe were futile, but he couldn't stop himself from trying to salvage what was left of this empty, god-forsaken man. This was the only way Sylar could live with himself. He had to cling to Mohinder, the one person he had ever had any sort of relationship with.

The man who was Doctor Suresh grabbed Sylar's forearms weakly, seeming extremely sane for a moment.

"Let me die," He whispered, only to be met with a stifled sob from the other man.

"I'm sorry Mohinder. I can't."


	2. Chapter 2

Mohinder cried, long and loud. His sobbing could be heard throughout the entirety of the apartment. Sylar had finally calmed him down the past night, after dressing his wound. He had seemed so lucid, speaking normally and keeping his voice steady. Sylar would have almost believed he was better if he hadn't been pleading for his own death.

The doctors said that Mohinder would probably never recover from his condition. 'Severe mental trauma' they had called it. Sylar had taken Mohinder to every mental specialist in New York, only to have that damn phrase follow him everywhere.

They told Sylar that Mohinder's madness must have stemmed from a deeply traumatic experience. Perhaps the death of a loved one. Of course he had been asked many questions regarding the subject, but Sylar stuck to his back story.

He told the doctors that he had found Mohinder in his apartment already in a state of insanity. It was really only half a lie. He had to face the truth of the situation, though. Sylar was the one who had broken Mohinder. It was his duty, his responsibility even, to fix the poor soul.

There was once a time when Sylar thought his only reason for living was to further the evolutionary process. Those times were long behind him, but they still haunted many. He didn't exactly feel remorse for his actions, but now that he had a new purpose he was able to accept the wrongness of his past life.

Sighing deeply, the tall man entered Mohinder's room. The geneticist was in his bed, right where Sylar had left him. He clutched his bed sheets tightly, drawing them closer to him when he noticed the man in his doorway. He whimpered pathetically, his dark eyes wide with fear.

Sylar walked up to the bedside, crouching down to meet Mohinder's horrified gaze. He reached his pallid hand out and touched a chocolate curl lightly. The Indian shrunk back, trying to avoid the unwanted touch. He averted his shining eyes, muttering to himself. "This isn't real," He whispered, "It's just another nightmare. Wake up, Mohinder. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up."

It was extremely disconcerting for Sylar to learn that such an innocent gesture from himself was the stuff of Mohinder's nightmares. He withdrew his hand, hesitantly, and made a small flicking motion with his fingers. This caused Mohinder to flinch involuntarily.

A small plate of pancakes floated silently into the room, hovering just above the geneticist. This was accompanied by a glass of orange juice and a bottle of maple syrup. The assorted goodies came together on a tray, and rested softly on Mohinder's quivering lap.

Sylar smiled sadly and poured a generous amount of syrup on the pancakes telekinetically. Mohinder picked up the fork Sylar offered him gingerly, and began to eat.

Even in his state of madness, Mohinder still retained most of his knowledge of basic tasks. Eating, showering, and dressing himself were no problem. His mental state was still extremely distressed. He was no longer able to separate fantasy from reality.

"Thank you." Mohinder uttered, looking up slightly. The taller man smiled, but inside he was shocked. The mere notion that Mohinder was actually speaking to _him_ made Sylar feel something that he hadn't in ages. Hope.

Once Mohinder had finished eating, Sylar picked up the dirty dishes and headed to the kitchen. He scrubbed the plate clean by hand and picked out a green porcelain tea cup from the cupboard. _The_ green tea cup. Humming quietly, he set a tea kettle on the stove.

False hope was better than none at all, he reasoned.


	3. Chapter 3

Sylar set his drained cup down silently and swooped back into Mohinder's room. He was afraid to leave the man alone these days, honestly. He couldn't risk another suicide attempt. Mohinder lay resting in his comfortable bed and Sylar just watched from across the room, listening to the sounds of sleep.

After hearing Molly's name whispered from unconscious lips, Sylar sighed. He slid down the wall, landing softly on the tan carpet. Mohinder continued to writhe, as if some terrible thing was killing him from the inside, eating it's way out. An imaginary parasite, perhaps.

Sylar was a man of many names. The girl, Molly, had called him the Boogeyman. He also recalled being referred to as a monster, a parasite, and even an angel. He couldn't dismiss the obvious irony of the latter, but in the end he was simply Sylar.

After a few hours of lingering in the corner, he noticed Mohinder stir. Suresh shook his head violently, then bolted upright in a fit of tears. Sylar rushed to his side valiantly, drawing a glass of cold water from the kitchen with a gesture.

Mohinder grasped the cup in a shaking hand and brought it to his lips. He gulped thirstily, all the while wondering who was standing by him. His eyes were still blurry from rest and it took him a moment to realize where he was at all.

When he looked up at the man next to him, he let out a short gasp. "No," He whispered, "This was a dream. I remember very clearly. I can't be awake."

Sylar looked down at him kindly, an image of the Zane that Mohinder once knew. "No, Mohinder. This isn't a dream." He uttered, trying to sound as kind as possible.

"I don't believe you." A wavering voice responded.

Rubbing his temples, Sylar sat at the foot of the bed. "You have to believe me. I'm the only one you've got left." He murmured. Mohinder's eyes widened at the statement.

"And Molly?"

"She's dead… I killed her."

"Parkman?"

"Gone. He left shortly after Molly's death."

Sylar's voice was so cold and impersonal as he spoke those last words. Mohinder could barely suppress a shudder. His eyes filled with tears and he curled into himself, praying quietly in a foreign language. Sylar reached a hand out to comfort the man, but was instead punched squarely in the jaw.

Mohinder stepped out of bed, his knuckles raw from the impact. Sylar had fallen to the ground from such a strong blow. He brushed a finger gingerly over his cheek, a trickle of blood running down his lip. Seeing the doctor standing over him, he raised a steady hand and telekinetically stopped the man in his tracks.

The geneticist growled fiercely when he found he was unable to move. He noted the murderer sauntering toward him and clenched his hand into a tight fist. "Wow," Sylar smirked, "You've still got a lot of fight in you, huh?"

Mohinder seethed. "You killed my daughter! Was it not enough for you to tear apart my family once?"

In response, Sylar knelt down beside Mohinder. "I think you're confused," He said calmly, releasing his hold on the other man. "maybe I should explain."

"_You_ don't get to explain," Mohinder hissed, anger sweeping over him. "murderers don't deserve to be humored."


	4. Chapter 4

Sylar straightened up, regaining his usual composure after a moment of heart-stopping hatred. Mohinder had no idea what had gone on for the past few years, he reminded himself. The doctor couldn't possibly have realized that Sylar had stopped killing long ago.

He sighed, bouncing softly on the foot of Mohinder's mattress, awaiting the inevitable assault of fists. He didn't deserve to be humored, he agreed. There just too much rage bottled up in poor Suresh, and Sylar would be more than happy to be his punching bag for a short time. "Okay," He whispered confidently, "have at me, then."

Mohinder's eyebrows raised in shock and he pulled himself upright, no longer restrained by telekinesis. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He asked, visibly calming down as each moment ticked by.

"Besides the obvious, you mean?" Sylar chuckled. He smirked annoyingly, but began to frown when he noticed Mohinder's breath catching in his throat. The geneticist promptly lurched over in pain as his heart skittered off-beat. He groaned prettily, falling to the floor when blood webbed it's way through his light cotton shirt.

The injury from two nights ago had split open, Sylar knew. He rushed to Mohinder's side, lying him out on the floor like a fleshy paper-doll. His pale fingers hovered over the collared shirt, unbuttoning it slowly to observe the wrappings underneath.

The bandages were completely soaked through with crimson and the smell of blood brought back memories for Sylar. Memories he both feared and longed for at once. He unfurled the stained gauze, his eyes lingering around the angry red gash on Mohinder's dark skin.

Mohinder's eyes fluttered open grudgingly. He found himself lying on the floor of his bedroom, with Sylar standing over him. Panicking, he willed his arms move, but they wouldn't listen. His chestnut eyes met the taller man's concerned stare.

"Don't try to move," Sylar muttered, concentrating very hard, "I don't want you to lose any more blood."

"Blood? What happened?" Mohinder asked, groggily, his eyes flicking around the room.

Scowling at the doctor's obvious ignorance, Sylar pulled out a needle and a spool of shining translucent thread. "You tried to commit suicide a few days ago." He grumbled, threading the needle nimbly. A flick of his fingers drew a syringe of anesthetics into the room and he plunged it smoothly into Mohinder's arm. With that, he set to work sewing the Indian's marred skin back together.

"Wha- What?" Mohinder gasped, beginning to feel extremely light-headed, his skin buzzing numbly. Sylar looked down at him sadly and began to tell the story of the past four years, explaining to Mohinder that he must have finally recovered from the shock of losing his family twice.

Of course, he mentioned nothing of his own interests, not even bothering to explain why he had taken care of the mentally-ill man. But thankfully, it wasn't necessary. The doctor was far too lethargic from the drugs and simply listened to the long, sad story of his own life intently.

Once Suresh was successfully sewn up, Sylar offered him a hand and helped him stay steady with telekinesis. By this point, Mohinder was quite dumbfounded. The paranoid part of his mind screamed at him, telling him that these were lies. That Sylar was tricking him once again.

Mohinder contemplated this possibility and decided that there was an easy way to separate fact from fiction. "Would you mind bringing me this week's newspaper?" He asked, slyly.

Sylar couldn't help but smile. He trotted obediently into the living room and returned with a thick stack of printed paper in hand. He silently thanked the God that he had long abandoned for bringing his Mohinder back. There would be many more challenges ahead, Sylar knew, but he welcomed them with open arms and a smirk on his lips.

End.


End file.
